Her
by Orokid
Summary: His thoughts on her, before she finds out his big secret. Kinda done off the top of my head...


**Orokid**_: Hey, I'm sorry that I'm just writing random fanfics now, but you'll have to be patient with me. I've been kind of busy with life, trying to find a job (which means even less time will be spent writing- sorry!), school (the usual do nothing days are still spent the same, so don't bitch too much), and, well… my insomnia has been getting pretty bad, so I've been trying to actually sleep. Once more, to whomever cares, I'm sorry that I'm writing random fanfics instead of what everyone wants. Just has been way too hectic._

**Disclaimer**_: I do not own W Juliet. The mere idea of it came from William Shakespeare, and the actual storyline came from some Japanese person (and I'm too lazy right now to look and see who it is, so we're stuck without a name to credit), so I don't really own anything at all about this story, do I. So… yeah. That's about it. Don't know what else to write, so… sorry again!_

_Please read!!_

Her

He had merely turned his eyes to the sky, cursing his adolescent hormones for those feelings that he had tried so hard to ignore, when he had seen her there before him. True, there had been a space of at least a yard between them (which he was beginning to find wasn't far enough for him to think sanely), but his eyes couldn't stop staring at her, the beauty he refused to admit he was feeling for as more than a friend. His heart couldn't stop throbbing within his chest as she spoke so freely, so excitedly with a friend he had rarely ever spoken to. This man who could barely force himself to smile in her presence, whether it be because of nerves or the knowledge that he could never have her in his arms, couldn't help himself from feeling a love he knew he shouldn't feel.

But, all in all, it had always been like this, ever since he had felt his emotions become too overwhelming to ignore. He'd walk into the room to where his seat had been placed on the ever thriving chart their teacher owned, dropping his bag on the floor beside his chair in such a way that some might be astonished by the sound if that one weren't paying any attention to the world around them, and then pause in mid-rise. Those emotions that he tried so hard to ignore returned, just as they did every morning he had walked into this class (although they were usually more confident than the last day), and he'd end up resigning to watching her instead of listening to what the teacher had to say.

One might ask just why he refused his emotions to show while she sat before him, her perfection bothering him in ways he had not be bothered before, and his reasoning was more than embarrassing to admit. Truth was, he had to hide his feelings, hide the heartache he felt each time he saw her with another man, or another person for that matter, because of a stupid bet he and the man who had bore him made.

He was to dress as a woman, act as though he had been born feminine instead of male, until his graduation day. This blonde haired man had three school years to take up the guise of a gender he truly wasn't, just so he could follow his dream to become an actor.

But… if there was anyone he'd throw his dreams away for, just for a chance to be in her arms, it was more than likely her above everyone else. She, who made him melt with her kind smile, who caused his heart to thrive and die at the very same time, could be the only one for him, although he could only doubt that she'd ever feel the same towards him. To her, all she could see when she looked at him was another young woman in her class, another girl for her to make sort of friends with (since he did notice that she seemed unable to make a true bond, a strong friendship, work past the usual "hello"s one says to a passing classmate), and that seemed only to kill him, torture him so badly that he could only beg for death.

It was there that those ever pressing questions took him, as they always seemed to when he was in the middle of a decision that could make or break his career in acting.

How was he going to survive in this atmosphere, keep to his dream to become a true actor, if all he could do was think about and stare at the young woman whom seemed to have such a hold on him and his beating heart? Could he truly hold tight to his ambitions when all he really wanted to do was hold her in his arms, tell her the truth and wish for a happy ending that could never be in such a world that they lived in? Was his cause so noble now while in the face of what might be called "love"? Or was this a simple infatuation he had to get through, a test that could either take away all he had ever fought for up to this point or reward his restraint?

He didn't know, but he was getting sick of asking questions that could not be answered, sick of the heartache that would strike him down as they always did every time their eyes would meet. He was done with the fighting he and his loving (if one could call his actions love) father did each time they saw one another, and hurt enough to know that he'd rather live a life filled with regrets than a life without her, whether it was to see her as she was, eye to eye, or to find a relationship in the flimsy friendship that had been created between them.

Yet still, no matter how much heartache he had ended up enduring so long, how ever long it had been since he had come to this school dressed as Makoto Amano instead of Makoto Narita, he strived on, ignoring how his heart ripped in two each time he saw her. No matter how painful it sometimes was to act through the emotions he felt, he had to try his best, like every actor did, to not allow reality to seep in where the imagination faltered.

"Makoto?" He could hear her voice call for him, but he knew that it truly wasn't him that she wanted. She wanted to take with the woman he had become, the woman he had been pretending to be, and that was all he could be. Not the man he knew he was, because he knew that he would scare her away if he acted like his true self, but the woman he hated more than anyone could ever understand, more than he could ever hate someone.

Still, that didn't mean he didn't raise his head from the desk he had buried himself into, and nor did it mean that he did not answer when she had called. It was the duty of it all, no matter if he liked or hated the feelings that erupted within. It was his duty.

That was just what he kept telling himself.

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**Orokid**_: Please review this story! It was kind of a quick write one day (well… today) and I'm interested what people think of it. Please send me your thoughts through the purple clicky button in the corner of your screen. Thankies!!_


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